Watching your blog takes me back. In my late twenties I immersed myself (as I am wont to do) in all things Morris, Stickley, Wrightian, Arts and Crafts, and even more than I can remember now at this late date. Those chamfered edges immediately thrust me back to the near amputation I risked as I tried to figure out how tho do them, ultimately resorting to a very sharp little block plane. It wasn’t right but it was fun to do and I still chamfer edges, sometimes, or I did…

The most I have to do with wood these days is to throw another chair on the fire while I wait for the phone to ring. Except I busted my phone up the other night while in a tequila induced mania. I don’t remember why. I remember why I was in a tequila induced mania but not what the phone did, it never does anything anymore. I might as well whittle one out of a piece of wood and chamfer the edges for all the ringing it does…

But you never know.

These days it is bicycles. They are simply magic and blasting around on my bike does wonders in mania-control. But looking at a nice little piece like that bench reminds me of the feel of the wood, the gentle tension of creating and crafting, the ever-underlying worry that it might not be right…then the trouble with parting with what is, in its essence, an extension of yourself.

TjC,
I have been of late covered in sawdust from dawn to dusk and have blurred the line between wood and flesh. Sometimes I think it would be better for my mental health to get on a bike and ride. But right now my obsession has not been fulfilled I don’t know exactly where this is taking me but it calls to me like a siren calls to a sailor. I need to find another outlet doing it full time at work and then again till dark and every weekend in between is wearing on my soul. I remember when I first learned how to turn on a lathe I would spin that wood sometimes until 3 in the morning.